


Neptune

by PumpkinspiceLou (CatyDreamDwyer)



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Angst, Footie Captain Louis, Friends to Lovers, Jealous Harry, M/M, Photographer Harry, Pining, Sad Harry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-21
Updated: 2016-04-21
Packaged: 2018-06-03 16:01:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6616783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CatyDreamDwyer/pseuds/PumpkinspiceLou
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry has always been in love with his best friend Louis, but when new student and goal keeper Zayn starts getting close with Louis, Harry can't help but assume the worst.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Neptune

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Larryshipper2015](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Larryshipper2015/gifts).



> Warning: this fic does have alcohol and drunkenness as well as implications of vomiting. 
> 
> Also the titled and the lyrics used as paragraphs breaks come from Neptune by Sleeping At Last. I basically listened to it on repeat while writing this, and I feel it really exemplifies Harry's emotions. You can listen to it [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UKtyJeNpcT4)

_I want to tell you, but I don't know how  
I want to love you, but I don't know how_

“H, I swear to god, if you don’t hurry up, I’ll sell your new camera on eBay!” 

The incessant knocking finally subsides, but Harry can still hear the annoyed groan through the wood before Gemma storms off. Harry can’t really find it in himself to care, his eyes fixated on watching the water trickle down the drain in swirls of soap and suds. His hair is practically plastered to his face, and his hands have long since gone pruney, but the constant pressure against his back feels too good. Like a calming wave washing over his nerves. Like a thousand little hands massaging into his muscles. A thousand little cold hands more like. The water definitely has a chill to it now, leaving goose-bumps prickling up and down Harry’s skin. He shuts the shower off with a soft sigh, his spine giving a satisfying crack as he straightens up and grabs a towel. Gemma won’t be happy about the lack of hot water, but maybe Harry can flee to school early to escape her wrath. 

Harry pads across the hall and into his room. Once the door is shut, he rubs the towel through his hair to try and dry it before tossing it aside onto his bed. He gets dressed in languid movements, pulling on a pair of skinny jeans and a band tee. He rifles a bit more with his hair in the mirror before making his way downstairs and into the kitchen. It doesn’t take long for Harry to whip up a cup of tea and some toast, and he sits at the island munching contently. 

Once the sound of the shower starting back up filters down the stairs, Harry is quick to slurp up the rest of his tea and dash upstairs. He stuff all his supplies into his messenger bag, slinging it over his shoulder, followed by his camera bag. He takes the steps back downstairs in quick succession, grabbing a banana and his car keys before flying out the door. 

The air is crisp and warm already despite the early hour. The sun hangs low in the sky, and a gentle breeze rustles the leaves of the large oak tree on the corner, tickles Harry’s hair against his cheeks. He can’t help but pause on the front step, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, letting the light rays of the sun bleed into his pores. It seems almost criminal: being forced inside for almost seven hours on such a beautiful day. Harry would much rather spend the day lounging in the garden with a nice fresh smoothie, letting the late summer day blanket him in comfort and warmth. The lighting would be perfect to snap some photos, maybe some nice shots of the birds singing softly in the branches. 

A bustling noise to the left pulls Harry out of his reverie. His head snaps in the direction, to the driveway two houses down. Louis is clambering out of his house and towards his car, younger sister following behind. Even from this distance, Harry can see how the sun’s rays dance around him, painting him in a beautiful light. It bounces off his hair, makes his skin glow golden, adds a sparkle to his bright eyes. Harry’s fingers itch to get his hands on his camera, capture it all with a long lens, beauty purely depicted in a single still shot. 

Before Harry can really tamper down on the desire, blue eyes are piercing into his. Harry’s whole body tenses, cold water flushing through his veins, at being caught. His hand grips his camera bag on instinct, bottom lip finding its way between his teeth. Slowly, Harry raises his free hand in a simple wave. 

“Hey Harry!” Louis shouts across the two yards. “Have a good summer?” 

“Yeah. You?” 

Before Louis has a chance to respond, Lottie says something to him, pulling his attention. From this distance, Harry can’t make out what they’re saying, but he knows when he shouldn’t intrude. He ducks into his car, placing his bags on the passenger seat before plugging in his phone and pulling out of his driveway. 

_It was a stained glass variation of the truth  
And I felt empty handed_

Harry files into the chemistry classroom, easily finding a lap table near the back. It isn’t long before someone is sliding into the seat beside him, their rucksack landing on the table top with a loud clatter. Harry pauses from reaching into his own messenger bag for a pen and looks up. He’s greeted with bright eyes and an even brighter smile. It pulls one of his own across his face. His heart gives a little stutter in his chest, warmth rushing through his veins and settling in every crevice of his body. 

“Well hello, young Harold. Long time no see.” 

“If I’m young, Lewis, does that make you old? Maybe I should start calling you grandpa.” 

“I see the summer sun has made you cheekier. That’s not good. You should probably see a doctor about that,” Louis puts on his best solemn expression and shakes his head, reaching out to quirk a strand of Harry’s hair. 

“Only if you come with me and hold my hand,” Harry replies, giving his best pout and batting his eyelashes. 

Louis pinches his mouth and rolls his eyes, but Harry can still see the faint laughter lines trying to peek out, the crinkles by his eyes starting to dig in. Louis’ quick to turn away though, digging through his rucksack for a journal and pen. 

"So, how did the Styles spend the summer hols then?” 

“My family went to Punta Prosciutto in Italy. It was absolutely gorgeous, Lou. All white sands and practically clear, blue water. You would’ve loved it. And the food there? Oh my god...” 

Harry knows what’s coming before Louis even opens his mouth. He sees that familiar glint dancing in Louis’ eyes, the smirk quirking up the corner of his lips, and the slight lift of his eyebrows. It leaves Harry biting down on a smile threatening to split his face in two, curling his toes in his shoes to release some of the energy swooping in his chest. 

“Oh look at me! I’m Harry Styles! I’m so posh! My family vacations in Italy!” 

Louis puts on his best dramatic imitation of a posh accent, adding in hand gestures and flare that Harry doesn’t quite understand the purpose of. But it still pulls a laugh out of Harry, even while a blush creeps up and prickles at his cheeks. The reaction seems to spur Louis on, glee melding in his eyes, as he throws a hand across his forehead and gives his best long withering sigh. 

“I will accept nothing less than fancy, white sand beaches! Hand prepared fancy Italian food! Shirtless Italian boys feeding me grapes!” 

Louis’ voice goes even louder and a bit shrill on the last sentence, like it’s using every bit of his willpower to hold in his laughter and keep up the façade. Harry’s not feigning much better, his eyes beginning to water, stomach aching and shoulders shaking. He has a hand pressed to his mouth to hold in his cackles, but he relinquishes it to slap the hand over Louis’ mouth. 

“Louis! Shut up. Oh my god.” 

Louis’ fingers curl around Harry’s, pulling his hand away from his mouth, the solemn expression from before back in full force. “You know, Harry. Not all of us can be posh. Some of us had to stay here in little ole Doncaster _all summer_.” 

“Fine. Next time my family goes on holiday, I’ll ask mum if you can tag along.” 

“Such charity. Thank you.” 

“You’re such a twat.” 

Harry knows there’s no way he’s able to keep the fond chuckle from lacing his words, but he turns away from Louis anyways, tries to focus on what Miss St Claire is saying at the front of the room. 

"You love me anyways,” Louis sing songs, shoving at Harry’s shoulder playfully. 

“Something like that,” Harry mutters, keeping his head down. He’s glad his hair grew enough over the summer that it hides his face, that Louis can’t see the blush that rises high and burns deep in his cheeks. Can’t see that Harry has to swallow around a sudden lump in his throat or the way his fingers twitch and tighten around the pen in his hand. Harry really hopes Louis doesn’t notice the way his pulse spikes, his heart going off like a bullet before the blood races through the track of his body. 

“Speaking of love, did you have any summer loving on your beach holiday?” 

“What?” 

“You know: summer loving had me a blast? Summer loving happened so fast?” 

“Are you really quoting Grease to me right now?” 

“You’re missing the point, H.” 

“Oh am I?” 

"You can't have a beach holiday without summer loving. I’m sorry; I don’t make the rules.” 

“Well…”

“Oh, I recognise that smirk. It was those shirtless Italian boys feeding you grapes, wasn’t it?” 

"You caught me, Lou. His name was Fernando.” 

“Fernando? Tell me more, tell me more!” 

Before Harry can reply with more Grease lyrics, the door to the classroom bursts open, cutting off Miss St Claire’s speech on appropriate lab etiquette. Harry’s eyes snap towards the sound, a boy standing stock still just inside the doorway. The newcomer has a cool atmosphere about him, soft dark hair lying flat against his temple, a leather jacket hugging his shoulders and chest. He has a messenger bag slung haphazardly over his shoulder and what appears to be a sketchbook clutched in his other hand. Long dark eyelashes fan around dark eyes that dart around the room, a speckle of frazzle hiding in the irises, and smooth facial features become marred by a blush sinking in. 

“Sorry,” the boy mutters, shuffling further into the room and holding out a pink slip towards Miss St Claire. “I got lost.” 

“New student?” Harry turns to Louis to whisper. 

“Oh, that Zayn.” 

“How do you know?” 

“He came to try-outs. He’s our new keeper. Nice guy actually.” 

"Oh..." 

Harry watches as Zayn turns around from Miss St Claire’s desk, hand curling tighter around the spiral binding of his sketchbook. He watches as Louis sits up straighter in his seat and offers Zayn a wave, bright smile once again plastered across his face. He watches as the blush on Zayn’s cheeks finally gives way to tan skin, the new boy returning a smile of his own in Louis’ direction. Harry watches it all and tries to ignore the feeling swirling and prickling deep in his chest, like tendrils trying to take hold. 

_You let me set sail with cheap wood  
So I patched up every leak that I could  
'Til the blame grew too heavy_

"Welcome back students, and welcome to new students who have decided to join the wonderful world of journalism. Now we’re hoping to have a back to school edition out by the end of the week, so I’ll be giving out sections for this term. Niall, our new editor-in-chief, mind giving a hand?” 

Niall bounds out of his seat, practically bouncing to the front of room. His smile is just as wide and his eyes are just as bright as ever. His blond hair is hidden under a newsboy cap and a loose striped tee hangs off his small frame. He takes the proffered sheet out of Mr Daniels hand before jumping up to sit on Harry’s desk, swinging his legs back and forth. 

“Nice hat, Niall,” Liam comments from his desk behind Harry. “Didn’t realise we teleported back to the 1920’s.” 

“Ha ha. Very funny,” Niall replies, flipping Liam the bird behind the papers in his hand. 

“Be nice, Liam. He’s just trying to look the part.” 

"Can I have some more please sir?” Liam mocks, putting on his best Oliver voice. 

“Another comment like that Payno, and I’ll put you on horoscopes!” 

“Read all about it! The Titanic sinks!” 

“Horoscopes it is. You can start with Aries.” 

"Alright. Alright,” Liam holds up his hands in surrender. “I relent.” 

“Good. Now,” Niall brings the papers up to his face with a flourish. “Harold, you’ll be on sports this term.” 

“What? But Liam’s always on sports.” 

“Sorry, H. We got our track schedule at last practice and too many of the meets conflict with the football games.” 

“And besides,” Niall adds, “you already go to all the games.” 

Harry tries to swallow down the blush he can already feel trickling up his neck to settle into his cheeks. He scrubs a hand through his hair as a distraction and digs the toe of his shoe into the carpeted floor. 

“So does half the school, you know,” he mutters. 

“The point is,” Niall interjects. “You’re already there, so just take some pictures and then write up what happens.” 

“Okay, fine.” 

“That’s the spirit!” 

Harry rolls his eyes, but a smile still sneaks its way across his face. Being surrounded by the laughter of his friends after a summer without helps dissipate that feeling from earlier. It eases the tension that twists in his muscles and leaves warmth blanketing on his insides, all thoughts of new students left behind. 

_Stitch by stitch I tear apart  
If brokenness is a form of art, I must be a poster child prodigy_

The end of the week brings more homework assignments than Harry thinks should be deemed fair, including a nature and landscapes assignment for his photography class. And that’s how Harry finds himself sprawled on his back in his front yard, grass tickling his cheek and breeze ruffling his hair. One hand delicately holds a camera, keeping it poised above his face, fingers of his other hand shifting the lens gently until the focus is just right. 

After a few minutes the stark red plume of a cardinal comes into focus. Harry holds his breath as the cardinal settles into her nest, finger poised and at the ready over the shutter button. As soon as three furry heads appear over the edge of the nest, beaks excitedly chirping towards their mother, Harry snaps photo after photo. 

The contrast of colours in the shot comes out beautifully even just through the lens. The vibrant red of the mother cardinal, the crystal blue of the late summer sky, and the soft green of the leaves fanned out around the nest all create the perfect picturesque shot. Harry zooms out to get the wide shot, snapping a few photos before his lens is blocked, a different shade of blue flooding the lens. It’s more shimmering deep sea than crystal clear sky. Harry even swears he can see the sun twinkling on the surface of the waves through his lens. Harry pulls the camera away from his face and is greeted by the soft glow of tan skin and even softer wind tousled hair. 

“You know if you continue to lay out in the sun like this, you’ll end up with a god awful camera tan.”

“Hi, Lou.”

“What’re you even taking photos of?” Louis asks, squinting up into the branches of the tree.

“The baby birds in the nest. They’re cute.”

“Harold, if you wanted to take photos of cute things, all you had to do was ask!” Louis exclaims dramatically before flopping down on the grass beside Harry. 

Harry sits up and whips his camera around to face Louis, capturing the perfect shot in a quick second. Louis perfectly sprawled out on the ground, hair splayed out around him and tangling with the soft blades of grass fanned around him, the sun’s rays bouncing of strands to create a halo of light. Crinkled eyes and pearly whites on full display as laughter bubbles up and swirls around them. Harry is quite sure the melodious sound will be audible even in still photo form. He captures it all before a hand is shoved over the lens. Slowly, Harry lowers the camera, not even bothering to hide his bright smile. 

“I was joking!” Louis gets out between bouts of more laughter. 

“The assignment was to take photos of beautiful things,” Harry says, squaring his face into a serious expression. 

“Such a cheeky sweet talker,” Louis mutters, rolling his eyes. 

Louis settles back against the grass, arms bent back to cradle his head, and closes his eyes. Harry follows suit, setting his camera to rest comfortably on his stomach. He lets his eyes flutter shut, lets the breeze fill his senses and the sun warm his skin. Warmer still is the boy lying beside him, and it brings Harry back to a simpler time…

_As much as Harry liked not having to share a room with Gemma anymore, he couldn’t help but feel nervous about moving to a new town. Still, he was nothing if not curious so while Mum and Robin directed the big mover men with the sofa, Harry snuck out the back door to explore. He weaved through the garden, stopping to smell the various flowers in full bloom in the sun, before coming face to face with the looming oak tree standing sturdy and strong in the front yard. Harry couldn’t help the way his jaw drops at the tree’s giant size, his eyes travelling up up up along the trunk and into the branches. He was even more shocked when his eyes found a boy perched high up in the branches._

_“Hey!” Harry calls up the tree. “What’re you doing up there?!”_

_The boy’s head snaps down in Harry’s direction, bright eyes that seem to match the sky behind the boy’s head perfectly squinting down at him._

_“What does it look like? I’m climbing a tree!”_

_“But it’s my tree!”_

_“No, it’s not!”_

_“Yes, it is! It’s in my yard! I moved in right over there, see?” Harry pointed in the direction of his new house before looking back up at the boy. “So it’s my tree!”_

_“I don’t see your name on it!” the boy argued, crossing his arms across his chest._

_“Well it’s my tree, so I’m coming up!”_

_Harry wiped his hands on his shorts and was about to jump up to try and grab the lowest branch before the boy’s voice cut in again to stop him._

_“But you can’t!”_

_“And why not?”_

_“Because you don’t know the password!”_

_“What password?!”_

_“The password to climb up here!”_

_“Well, how am I supposed to know the password?!”_

_A paused moment of silence passed, both boys staring at each other._

_“I could tell you if you want…”_

_“Okay, what is it?”_

_“I’ll only tell you if you promise to be my bestest friend forever! My best friend before moved away,” the boy said, his bottom lip jutting out._

_“I promise,” Harry said, holding up his pinky despite the distance between the two boys._

_“Okay. The password is football.”_

_Harry nodded then jumped up to grab the lowest branch. He brought his legs up to hug the tree like a sloth before pulling his body up and onto the branch. Using the trunk for support, Harry slowly stood up. He looked to the branch below where the boy was perched and reached towards it. It was farther than he expected, and Harry huffed out a frustrated breath as he stretched up onto his toes. His right hand finally got a grip on the branch, but his toes slipped on the bark. Harry couldn’t help the yelp that clawed at his throat as his balance faltered. Suddenly, two hands grabbed onto Harry’s arms, hefting him up and onto the branch._

_“You know, Curly, if we’re gonna be best friends, we have got to work on your climbing skills.”_

_“My name isn’t ‘curly’; it’s Harry.”_

_“Okay, Harry! I’m Louis.”_

“You alright there, H?”

“Hmm?” Harry hums, turning his head to face Louis, his heart fluttering as he watches the slow smile peel across the blue eyed boy’s face. 

“You went a bit quiet there.”

“Oh. Sorry. Yeah. I’m perfect.”

Louis hums and turns his head back towards the sky. “I’m perfect too.”

_Thread by thread I come apart  
If brokenness is a work of art, surely this must be my masterpiece_

The first match of the season draws out a large crowd; students, teachers, and parents alike filling out the bleachers. The excited chatter thrums in Harry’s ears as he makes his way up the bleacher steps. He sets up at the front, along the railing, eyes sweeping across the pitch. The flood lights above glare down and reflect off the glistening water droplets still fresh from the morning rain. 

Harry pulls his camera out of his bag, taking a few tester shots of the teams warming up. He spots Louis at the end of the pitch near the goal, stretching. It’s like Harry’s finger has a mind of its own, pressing the shutter button again and again, capturing each shot. The way Louis’ hair falls in his face as he reaches down to touch his toes. The way his thighs bulge and flex as he lifts each leg back to stretch his quads. The way a tiny sliver of tan skin peeks out as he stretches his arms up and behind his head. 

Soon a new figure appears in each frame, coming closer and closer, and Harry yanks his camera down in time to see Zayn approach Louis. Harry can’t hear what’s said from this distance, but whatever it is makes Louis throw his head back in laughter before he shoves at Zayn playfully. The two chat for a bit more before wrapping their arms around each other’s shoulders and making their way towards the bench, heads bent together. 

As Harry watches the two sit and listen to the coach’s pep talk together, that feeling from the first day he saw Zayn returns, prickling like ice through his veins. It pulls at his chest like an anvil weighing his organs down and leaves a lump in his throat like he’s tried to swallow a watermelon whole. Before Harry can dwell on the sinking feeling, though, a whistle wails, signalling the start of the game. 

With a shaky breath in, Harry raises his camera once again, watching through the lens as each of the teams take their positions. The whistle rings out again and the game is off. Harry tries to follow the ball as it coasts and bounces across the pitch, but the camera keeps falling back on Louis. The way his hair flies up around him as he runs. The way his eyebrows pinch and his nose scrunches up in determination. The way that Louis still smiles even when he’s dashing after a midfielder like there’s nowhere else he’d rather be. Even when his energy’s slowed down, and he’s standing back watching with calculating eyes, Harry’s camera finds him, locking on for shot after shot. 

“Oh! Did you see that tackle? Please tell me you got a shot of that! It’ll be great for the paper!” 

Harry slowly lowers his camera, wide eyes snapping to the bubbling blond beside him. He reaches up and yanks his beanie down lower on his head, already able to feel his ears burning through his curls. He swallows hard and then clears his throat, praying Niall keeps his eyes on the game and not the blush now burning into his cheeks as well. 

“No, sorry. I think I missed it,” Harry utters. 

“Come on, H,” Niall says, bumping their shoulders together. “You’ve got to be quicker with that shutter.” 

Niall’s loud laughter fills his ears, and Harry tries to laugh along, but even he can hear the strain laced in it. Harry can feel Niall’s eyes shifting to him, so he’s quick to move his camera back over his face to hide. 

“Don’t want to miss another shot!” 

“Alright ya weirdo…”

For the rest of the game, Harry uses all his focus and willpower to keep his camera aimed on the ball, getting shots of Jason deking around a defender, of Marcus tackling a striker. It doesn’t help, though, when Louis dribbles the ball into the box and sinks the ball into the top left corner, scoring the only goal of the game. 

When the final whistle blows, Harry gets some great shots of the team coming together, limbs flailing excitedly yet somehow encompassing one another, heads thrown back in victorious cries and laughter. His finger stutters and hesitates when Louis breaks away from the pack, dashing down the pitch and jumping into Zayn’s arms. The two jump around in place, arms tight around one another, before Louis pulls away and lands a smacking kiss on Zayn’s forehead. Harry tries to tell himself that it’s just two teammates happy to have won their first game and nothing more, but the way his heart constricts and twists suggests it clearly didn’t get the memo. 

“Come on, H. I want to get a statement from the coach for the article,” Niall says, tugging Harry’s arm and pulling him away from his rooted spot. 

_I'm only honest when it rains  
If I time it right, then the thunder breaks when I open my mouth  
I want to tell you, but I don't know how_

Harry clicks next, the photo on his laptop screen blinking over to another. As the picture loads, a slow smile pulls across Harry’s face, his eyes scanning across the screen. It’s the perfect moment captured at just the right time. Louis has one leg straight ahead, heel digging into the turf of the pitch, and muscles of his thigh thick and taut. His other leg curves back ready and poised against the football positioned in the corner of the shot. His jersey and hair ripples with the momentum even in the still photo. 

Harry pulls up his editing tools, blurring the background and the opposing player there, bringing Louis into true focus in the foreground. He also toggles a bit with the contrast, brightening and bringing out the green of the turf and the red of Louis’ jersey. 

Harry’s considering making alterations to the saturation, to really bring out the golden tinges of Louis’ hair and skin when the door to his bedroom swings open. Harry swings his glance in that direction and is greeted with golden hair and skin in the flesh, accompanied with a bright smile. 

"Hey Hazza. Hope you don't mind, but your mum let me in.” 

"It's okay. You know you’re always welcome.” 

“What’re you working on anyways? It is Saturday, you know,” Louis says, sauntering further into the room and peering over Harry’s shoulder. “Oh, are those the photos from the game? Harry, mate, that’s a sick shot! You’ve got to send that to me!” 

Harry can't help but preen under the praise, the tickle of butterfly wings fluttering in his gut. He bites his lip against a too wide smile and scrunches his nose to get his muscles back into a normal expression. He hopes Louis can’t feel the heat tinging and probably radiating from his cheeks from where the blue eyed boy has his chin hooked over Harry’s shoulder. 

“Have you got more photos on here?” Louis asks, reaching over to try and hit the next arrow on Harry’s keyboard. 

“Lou, stop!” Harry exclaims, reaching forward to wrap delicate fingers around Louis’ wrist. Even after he pulls Louis’ hand away, he can’t help but keep the gentle hold. “You’ll ruin my editing.” 

“But I wanna see.” 

The whine is out in full force, and Harry doesn’t have to turn his head to know that Louis’ also pulled out the pout and puppy eyes. And Harry’s nothing if not a sucker, has been since they were seven and eight years old. Still, Harry gives his best long suffering sigh before reaching forward on his desk and grabbing his camera. 

“Here,” Harry says, offering Louis the camera. “You can look at them this way.” 

Louis takes the proffered camera with a winning smile before plopping down onto Harry's bed to look through the photos. A comfortable silence washes over them like soft lulling waves, so with Louis content for the time being, Harry turns back to his work. He pulls up the accompanying article, filling in a bit of dramatic flair with the highlights already written up. 

“You know there’s other players on the team besides me, right?” Louis’ voice pipes up after a while. 

Harry can feel the blush rush through his veins before crashing into his cheeks. For a second his breath catches, stuttering to a stop in his lungs. He can feel his teeth digging into his lip, and once his brain catches up and snaps back, he pulls it free using his fingers. 

“But there’s only one captain,” Harry replies, making sure his voice comes off teasing. 

Louis hums in acquiesce before silence settles over them once again. 

“How come you haven’t got any photos of Zayn? He made some sick saves last night.” 

The butterflies from earlier drop like flies in Harry’s stomach at the question, and he can’t help but curl his socked toes into the carpet below his feet, teeth digging into the inside of his cheek. 

“Well what if he didn’t make the save? And the other team scored? That would’ve been an awkward shot to have.” 

“Yeah but he didn’t. He’s great! I’m so excited for the rest of the season. I think we can go all the way this year now that we have a proper good keeper. Plus he’s a well cool guy. Honestly, Coach should make him assistant captain or something.” 

Harry tries to distract himself from Louis’ excited tone with the article, but all it does it make his fingers slam into each key he types. His body feels like lead is pushing through his veins. Something that feels a lot like fire licks at his heart strings, and Harry forces himself to swallow hard before he speaks, biting his tongue against using a too clipped a tone. 

“Yeah, Zayn’s just so amazing isn’t he? He’ll probably have all the boys and girls fawning after him by the end of the year.” 

“With cheekbones and a jawline like he has, I wouldn’t be surprised.” 

“Is there a particular reason you’re here right now?” Harry snaps, spinning around in his chair to fix Louis with a hard stare. Harry regrets the outburst as soon as it happens, hates the way Louis’ eyebrows pinch and his lips purse. 

“We’re having a barbeque at my place. My mum sent me to invite your family over.” 

He hates even more how Louis’ voice sounds timid and hesitant all of a sudden, his eyes still clouded with confusion as he watches Harry. 

“Oh. Great! I’m starving anyways. Think it’s messing with my brain.” 

"Yeah... You always did get quite cranky when you’re hungry.” 

“Exactly! So should we get going?” 

Harry stands up from his desk, stretching his arms up over his head and offering Louis a smile. Slowly but surely a smile pulls its way across Louis’ face, and Harry feels relief bloom in his chest, his favourite sight having returned. Louis jumps up off the bed and holds out the camera towards Harry. 

“Here’s your camera back.” 

“Bring it with us. Maybe I’ll take some more photos.” 

“You already have so many pictures of me. It’s got to be pretty boring always taking photos of the same subject.” 

Louis rolls his eyes playfully before bouncing out of the room, leaving Harry to quickly grab a jacket and follow him. 

“Never.”

_I'm only honest when it rains  
And open book with a torn out page, and my ink's run out  
I want to love you, but I don't know how_

Week after week passes, the air outside growing colder. The leaves of the large oak tree turn from brilliant green to bright yellow and deep red before swirling and tumbling down to the ground below. Soon the nest becomes a vacant forgotten home tucked in the now barren branches. The sky too shifts. No longer rolling soft waves of blue; stormy grey takes over, marring the sky with its muted tones. 

Normally, Harry loves autumn. He loves the slight chill that nips at his fingers and nose. He loves the endless warm tea and pumpkin spiced everything. He loves unlimited cuddles and the smell of fires burning that always seems to linger in the air. He loves the cosy jumpers and the pink cheeks and puffs of breath that now accompany bouts of laughter. 

Now, though, all he can see is the gloom in it. The sad wilt of flowers cowering in the cold. The lonely stature of empty trees. The grey hue encompassing the world while the sun is held captive by the clouds. It’s all quite dreary, and Harry can’t help but feel the same way inside. It’s like he has his own patch of dark clouds swirling in his head, sending icy pelts of rain through his body and leaving a stormy sea lurching in his stomach. Some days he feels like the tree looming outside his window: barren and stripped away. Other days he sees the last of the flocks of birds fleeing and chasing the summer, and he envies them, longs for that ability to join them. 

Today is one of those days. 

Harry sits at his kitchen table, fork picking aimlessly at the breakfast spread there. But his eyes are glued to the window. Harry heard the rain start late last night, and it still hasn’t let up. He watches at water droplets splatter and raise down the windowpane, moulding together to paint distorted images of the back garden. 

As Harry watches a pair of droplets skirt down the pane before veering off in opposite directions, he allows his mind to wander to earlier in the week. 

Louis had been right at the beginning of the school year, when he said they could go all the way this season. The team had yet to lose a single game and were on their way to the playoffs. And Harry had been there with his camera poised for every moment. Of course, every moment included Louis and Zayn leaping into each other’s arms after every victory. It included the two walking out of the locker room with their arms around each other before heading off to celebratory dinner and drinks, leaving Harry holding his camera, which was starting to feel a lot more like a bleeding heart, alone in the parking lot. 

At least at school, Harry felt like he still had a loose grasp on Louis. Louis still slid into the seat beside Harry with a winning smiling every first period. He still ducked his head down close to Harry and distracted him with jokes about the chemistry terminology Miss St Claire spewed. He still buried a hand in Harry’s hair the way Harry always liked. And Harry preened under the undivided attention, even if it was short lived. 

It took less than a week for Zayn to join their lunch table. Harry had tried not to mind, had tried to be nice, but it was hard. It was hard watching Louis and Zayn jab elbows as they talked about footie. It was hard watching Louis steal food off of Zayn’s tray rather than his. It was hard watching Louis laugh so hard he practically curled over the table over something Zayn said. It didn’t help that Liam and Niall seemed to be getting on well with Zayn as well, and on Thursday, Harry could do nothing but pick at the crust of his sandwich as Liam, Zayn, and Louis all chattered on about the newest Marvel movie being released in the spring. It left a hollow feeling in Harry. Like being punched in the chest, and when the fist pulled back, it took a chunk of him with it, leaving Harry standing alone, broken, and empty in nothing but the darkness. 

The ultimate blow came Friday. Harry had made plans with Louis to spend the whole of Saturday together. Harry would bring down his duvet for them to curl under on the sofa. They’d order enough takeaway for five. And they’d binge watch a new show on Netflix. Harry knew Louis was keen on starting Daredevil. It would be just like the old days. The golden days of LouisandHarry. Maybe Harry could finally forget all about new goal keepers. Friday night, though, Louis called to say he had to cancel. The coach wanted to have a team bonding session before playoffs. Harry tried not to let it get to him, but then Louis sent him a selfie Saturday evening of him and Zayn pulling funny faces at the camera. It was like something snapped inside Harry. His insides flared hot and froze over at the same time. His lungs constricted and his eyes stung, breath and lips stuttering against the sudden lump gripping his throat. He felt slashed and battered by a simple photo, and he wanted to scream; he wanted to throw his phone across the room until it broke and reflected his insides. Instead, he told his mum he didn’t feel well and went to bed before dinner. He laid there all night. Listened as the wind picked up outside before the rain started, splattering against his window and feeling like bullet after bullet tearing through his heart. 

And just like that the hot and cold feeling is back, tingling up Harry’s spine and gripping into his chest like a vice. It turns his vision cloudy and his knuckles white. And he doesn’t even realise how hard he goes for another bite of egg until the clattering and scraping of his fork against his plate echoes in the otherwise quiet kitchen. 

"Everything alright, H?” his mother asks quietly from where she’s sipping her tea at the island. 

“Yeah,” Harry says, running a hand through his hair before standing up. “I should head to school.” 

Harry ignores his mum’s concerned look and Gemma’s raised eyebrows, heading upstairs to gather his things. He slings his messenger bag over his shoulder, pulls a beanie low over his head, and dashes out the door. Once in the safety of his car, Harry takes a few slow deep breathes, hand gripping into the wheel until his muscles cry out and turn white, before he turns the engine over and drives to school. 

Once at school, Harry makes his way to the journalism room. He finds Niall and Liam already inside, pouring over the layout boards sprawled across the desk. They don’t seem to notice Harry, their heads ducked low as they speak in hushed tones. Harry steps further into the room. 

“Hey, guys. I have the stuff for the piece about the last game,” Harry says, holding out the best photos he took and subsequent article towards Niall. “I emailed in a digital copy as well.”

“What, you stay up all night writing that? You’ve got bags upon bags under your eyes, mate,” Liam says. 

Niall gives Liam a pointed look, but Harry chooses to ignore that and the implications of it. Instead, he hikes his bag strap further up on his shoulder and offers a small shrug, looking at the blond expectantly. Niall flips through the pages in his hand before offering Harry a smile, although Harry doesn’t miss the sympathy laced there. 

“These are great, Haz. Another great photo for the front page.” 

Harry glances down at the photo Niall’s talking about. It’s a shot of Louis sliding into the corner after a goal. His fists are clenched against his chest and his mouth is open in a shout. Even though his eyes are shut, the laughter lines are still ever present beside them. The sight makes Harry’s heart both clench and do a somersault. 

When Harry glances back up, Niall and Liam are sharing a look before both their eyes fall on him. Harry already knows they want to say something, and he knows even more that he doesn’t want to hear it. 

“I should head to class. Don’t want to be late.” 

Before Niall or Liam can say anything more, Harry turns on his heel and heads out the door and towards the science wing. He ends up being the first in the classroom, sliding into his usual seat easily while Miss St Claire writes up today’s notes on the board. Harry pulls out a pen and his notebook, figuring he might as well get an early start on copying them. 

It isn’t until right before the final bell that Louis comes sauntering into the classroom, Zayn right beside him. Harry can’t help but scoff at their smiling faces, his pen digging in a bit too hard against the page of his notes. When Louis glances in his direction, Harry is quick to duck his head back down, focusing on dabbing up the newly formed ink blob. It isn’t long before the familiar scraping sound of the chair beside him echoes in his ears. He doesn’t look up. 

"Hey, H. Good weekend?” Louis’ bright voice says. 

“Yeah, I guess,” Harry mumbles.

A silence falls over them. Harry continues to scrawl out notes on his page, but he can hear the squeaks of Louis shuffling his trainers against the floor. 

“Listen,” Louis speaks up again. “Since we couldn’t hang out earlier because of Coach, I was thinking maybe we could do something this weekend. Marathon some movies or something? Get a Chinese or an Indian takeaway?” 

“I can’t.” 

“Oh…”

Harry can't help but relish in the tone lacing Louis’ voice. A vindictive moment where he hopes Louis learns what it’s like to have a taste of his own medicine. It only lasts a second, though, before guilt takes over. 

“My family is going to visit my Nan this weekend.” 

“Oh! That’ll be fun. You’ll have to tell her I say ‘hi’ for me. And maybe steal some of those homemade biscuits of hers.”

“Sure.” 

Harry tries to match Louis’ carefree and bright tone, but he knows he falls flat. All he feels is like he’s drowning, and that no matter how hard he tries to swim to the surface, to grab Louis’ hand, he’s just pulled further into the dark, pressure making his head want to explode. The stinging is back behind his eyes, and Harry’s beginning to wonder how much more of this he can take. 

“Hey… Haz, are you—”

“Look, can we talk later or something?” Harry snaps, finally looking up at Louis. “We have a test coming up, and I really can’t fail.” 

Louis blinks at Harry a few times, mouth fish-mouthing before he turns and slumps over his side of the lab table. 

“Y-yeah. Of course.” 

_These wild oceans shake what's left of me loose  
Just to hear me cry mercy_

When Harry walks into school on Friday, the corridors are a sea of red. From school tees to just red articles of clothing, it’s wave after wave of school spirit. A group of boys chattering by their lockers have war-paint styled streaks across their cheeks, foreheads, and chins. Harry even sees one girl with what looks like twenty-four hour dye in her hair. 

The excitement of it being almost the weekend as well as over the fact the football team has made it to the finals is palpable. It thrums along the tiled floors and bounces off the lockers. It swirls over students’ heads and sparks in their veins, leaving jitters to prickle along the skin. 

Harry wishes he could share in the sentiment, but all the budding excitement does is weigh heavy on his shoulders. Every mention of what a great captain Louis is, of what an amazing keeper Zayn is, is another punch in the gut. Every mention of how they’re the dream team on the field is another stab in the heart. Walking down the corridors, all Harry wants is for a giant hole to appear at his feet and swallow him whole. Or maybe it could appear at Zayn’s feet; that’d be even better. 

Harry drags himself into the chemistry classroom, slumping down into his seat. He pulls the beanie atop his head further down on his curls. This morning he’d been so distracted letting the water pound against his back and shoulders until it ran cold that he forgot to wash his hair. 

There’s a commotion at the door, and Harry looks up just in time to see Louis and Zayn bursting into the classroom. They’re both all wide smiles and comradery and Harry can feel his breakfast churning in his stomach. Then the whole class starts applauding, a few boys at the front even whistling and hollering. Louis laps it up, giving an overzealous bow before locking Zayn in a playful headlock when he tries to flee to his desk. Louis high-fives every student he passes on his trek through the classroom to his seat. 

When Louis gets closer, his eyes meet with Harry and his entire face morphs. The wide smile vanishes, and Harry swears his eyes actually change colours; from crisp blue to dull grey. Harry’s the first to shift his gaze away, swallowing hard and staring intently at the granite below his fingertips. He’s suddenly wishing for that black hole again; just to get away from the pitying gaze Louis is boring into his temple. He should’ve known he was being too obvious. Maybe Niall or Liam told him. 

“Hey, H,” Louis greets, sliding fully into his seat. “I missed you after the quarterfinals. You didn’t stick around?”

“I had to make sure I got the article in in time.”

“Right. Yeah. I saw the photo on the front page. You really are a wizard with a camera.”

“Thanks.”

Silence falls over them as Miss St Claire begins today’s lesson. Harry begins taking notes, copying down the equations written up on the board. 

“Are you going to come to the party after the game?” Louis pipes up after a minute. “It should be sick.”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“So I’ll see you there?”

“Maybe. I’m sure you’ll be occupied with your teammates.”

Harry feels Louis’ gaze shift away from him, and when he looks up and follows Louis’ eyes, he can’t help but scoff. Zayn’s eyebrows are pinched together, his mouth turned downward in a frown as his eyes meet Louis’ before glancing at Harry. Harry snaps his eyes back down to his desk, hand tightening around his pen. The slight twinge as the grooves dig into his palm is a welcome change, a distraction from the roaring waves swirling inside. It feels like his insides are flaring with fire, and Harry has to fight the itch to claw at his skin. He can feel Louis’ eyes on him again, but he ignores it. Instead, he squeezes his eyes shut, focusing on the voice of Miss St Claire floating across the room. 

“So in pairs, you’ll choose one element from the periodic table and create a ten slide PowerPoint to present to the class next Friday.” 

Harry spends the rest of the class refusing to let Louis pull his attention away. He carefully writes down all that is expected from the project on elements and dutifully takes notes of the rest of the lecture on bonds. 

As soon as the bell rings, Harry shoves his things in his bag and makes his way out of the classroom. He can hear footsteps behind him as he pushes through the throngs of students in the corridor, but he keeps his face forwards and his steps sure as he walks towards his literature class. 

Harry is able to make it through the rest of the school day without seeing Louis. He hides in the library during lunch under the pretence that he forgot an assignment for his government class, but the look Niall gives him suggests he doesn’t buy it. Regardless, the blond doesn’t comment, and Harry spends the hour staring at a computer screen in the far corner. 

After only a few minutes, though, Harry caves and plugs in the memory card for his camera. If he’s going to have a day of self-loathing, he may as well go all out. He scrolls all the way back to the series of pictures from the third weekend after school had started. Louis, Harry, Niall, and Liam had gone to Asda’s for a makeshift picnic before spending the day in the park, lapping up the sun. Harry can’t help but laugh at the photo of Louis holding up two melons against his chest, head held proudly high and an over exaggerated duck face expression painted across his face. Another photo shows Louis trying to wrestle a package of biscuits from Liam, sun bouncing off the mischievous glint shining in his blue eyes. 

Harry’s favourite picture, though, is the one where Louis caught him trying to sneak a shot. His eyes pierce right through the frame, bright and sparkling. His lips are curved in a small smile, but it still makes his eyes crinkle, his cheeks rounded with amusement. It’s like a private smile, meant just for Harry; only, Harry knows it’s not just for him. Now Zayn gets the private smiles. He gets the inside jokes, the playful banter, the stomach aching laughs. He gets the cuddles and kisses and midnight talks. 

Suddenly, Harry feels unable to breath, the desire to scream despite the quiet of the library clawing at his throat. His heart twists and constricts so tight, Harry is sure a hand has reached into his chest and is intent of squeezing until Harry breaks. He wishes the hand would just rip his heart out already, just so he could feel blissfully numb for a bit instead. 

Eventually, the bell rings, and Harry drags himself to his next period. The rest of the day passes in a blur, and before he knows it, Harry finds himself in the empty corridor at the end of the day. He’s storing away the books he won’t need for the weekend when Louis finally corners him. 

“Hey, Haz.”

Harry has to take a moment to steel himself, gripping his hand into his locker door before chancing a glance at Louis. He regrets it immediately. Louis’ eyes don’t even meet his, fingers toying with the strands of his fringe. Harry knows it’s a nervous habit. And yet at the same time, Harry’s not sure he can even look at Louis. He knew it would be hard: having Louis while never actually having him. He feels like he’s lost out at sea. He can see the lighthouse, the shoreline, but no matter how much he swims, waves pound against his body and water fills his lungs. Maybe letting go and drowning is the better option. But letting go of Louis… 

Harry shakes the thoughts clouding his mind, realising belatedly that an uncomfortable silence has fallen between them. 

“Hey, Lou,” Harry says quietly. 

“So… um… I was thinking we could get together Sunday to work on the chemistry project? We should probably do your house because the twins are having a sleepover this weekend. But anyways, did you have an element you think we should do? I was thinking we could do Helium and like get balloons and do the whole presentation in high voices.”

Louis chuckles at his last statement, but it sounds forced and strained and nothing like the light contagious sound Harry is used to singing in his ears. It makes Harry shuffle and scuff his feet against the tile below them. 

“Louis, I uh I asked Emily to be my partner for the Chem project.”

Louis' eyes snap up then to meet Harry’s. They’re still the stark blue that Harry loves, but the sparkle is definitely missing there like clouds have covered the sun. 

“What? But we’re always partners for projects.”

“Well, now you can be partners with Zayn.”

“Oh.”

That vengeful spark of glee is back at Louis’ downturned face. Harry closes his locker and hikes his bag higher up on his shoulder to distract himself from it. 

“Look, I have to go pre-write the article for the game tonight if I want to be able to hand it in on time and go to the party later.”

“Right.”

“So um good luck and stuff, and I guess I’ll see you later.”

Harry rubs his hand against the back of his neck before turning on his heel and heading towards the library. He keeps a tight grip on his bag strap and swallows hard, able to feel eyes burning right between his shoulder blades. 

The stadium surrounding the school pitch is ablaze. The bright lights draw attention to the sea of red filing into the bleachers and the chatter and cheers culminate to reverberate in the air. Harry spots Liam and Niall standing along the railing and sidles up beside them, pulling his camera from the safety of its bag. It’s not long before both teams exit the locker rooms and amble onto the pitch, causing all the fans to holler and cheer. Even Niall joins in, forcing Harry to shield his ears for a moment. Warmups go by quickly, and Harry snaps a great shot of the team all huddled around the coach, arms locked together in solidarity, before the whistle blows. 

The game kicks off with a bang just as always, Harry trying to keep up with the fast pace, camera snapping photo after photo. It’s not long before he realises that something is wrong, something is off. 

It’s only a few minutes in and the ball slides off Mikey’s foot, landing perfectly at Louis’. Louis takes off for the box, but a defender scoops the ball up and away. It’s an easy take away and an unusual mistake to make on Louis’ part, leaving a confused murmur to trickle through the crowd. 

It seems that’s only the start. In the twenty fourth minute, Louis misses a header from Jason, losing a golden opportunity. It would’ve been a simple goal, one Louis’ made before, and Louis seems to know it as well, slamming his fist into the turf where he lays sprawled across the ground. In the fifty first minute, Louis takes down one of the opposing team members in an aggressive tackle, sending the boy tumbling to the ground while the ball bounces away untouched. He gets a yellow card for the attack, and Harry fears he may get ejected from the game when he goes to shout at the referee, but then Eli runs up and tugs him away. Another mistakes ends with the opposing team scoring, but luckily in the eighty seventh minute, the boys are able to tie the game. 

As play extends into overtime, the score doesn’t change, meaning the game moves on to penalty kicks. The entire pitch, crowd and players included, holds its breath as Zayn ambles onto the field and into position at the goal. The opposing player lines up and then the whistle blows, blaring sound deafening in the now silent stadium. The player sends the ball flying towards the top corner, but Zayn reaches up, getting just enough fingers on it to send the ball bouncing up over the goal post. The crowd around Harry erupts into cheers and hollers, and Harry himself can’t help but clap at the successful save. 

Next up is Jason, who tries for a low kick that the opposing goal keeper easily stops. The next opposing player to shoot on Zayn sinks the ball just past Zayn’s outstretched hand, but Mikey lands his kick easily, the goal keeper miss-guessing which way he was going for, tying up the score once again. The next kick on Zayn goes wide, but Eli’s attempt gets knocked away with ease by the opposing goal keeper. Both the fourth attempts soar into the opposing teams’ nets, leaving one final set of kick before sudden death. The final kick on Zayn flies over his head and sinks perfectly into the top right corner. 

The fans around Harry are back to holding their breath as Louis walks out onto the pitch. Harry readies his camera as Louis positions the ball how he likes it. Silence entraps the whole stadium once again as Louis takes one, two, three steps back. He runs forward, leg reared back before he swings it, foot colliding with the ball. The ball flies across the sky, soaring clean over the goal. 

The other side of bleachers erupts into cheers, the opposing team rushing onto the field to hug their goal keeper. Louis is still standing in the same spot, despite the commotion going on around him. His body is rigid and his eyes stare at the goal. Then suddenly he turns on his heel and storms off towards the locker room. Harry itches to go after him, but then he watches Zayn sprint across the pitch towards the locker room and all he feels is the urge to be sick instead. 

_The strong wind at my back  
So I lift up the only sail that I have  
This tired white flag_

Harry has to go home after the game to finish off the article about the game. It takes longer than he originally planned as he had prewritten most of the article under the impression that the team would win the championship, not lose. Still, he tries to spin the article in a positive light before sending it off to be published in the morning. 

When Harry finally rolls up to Mikey’s house for the party, the music is loud enough that he can feel the bass thrum up through his toes just walking up the front steps. When he opens the door, he’s greeted with throngs of bodies, some standing around trying to talk over the noise, others swaying to the beat ringing out, all with red solo cups clasped in their hands. The heat of so many people squeezed together swirls and blankets the air, a welcome change from the bitter winter cold outside. Harry peels his heavy pea-coat off before wandering further into the house, finding the room where everyone is storing their coats and bags. 

Harry then makes his way through the hoards towards the kitchen, dodging already drunk students and squeezing past a couple snogging in the doorway. Despite the crowd also in the kitchen, Harry’s able to find what appears to be a clean cup, some vodka, and a bottle of lemonade. He mixes together a drink before heading back out into the heart of the party. The furniture in the lounge has been pushed aside to form a makeshift dance floor, bodies pulsing together to the music streaming from the sound system. 

Harry spots Louis in the centre of the mass of bodies, hips swivelling and head tipped back. Even from this distance, Harry can see the sheen of sweat glistening on his collarbones, exposed from the deep scoop of his tee-shirt. Can see the way his eyelashes fall and flutter of his cheekbones. Can see the way his hair is dishevelled and falling over his forehead. A voice somewhere in the back of Harry’s mind pleads with him to hate Louis, but his heart clearly has other plans with the way it still stutters in his chest. Instead of choosing a side, Harry just takes a long pull of his drink. 

The song changes over to something with a faster beat, the sea of bodies shifting to accommodate. It’s then that Harry notices Zayn and Eli bracketing either side of Louis. Harry rolls his eyes at the sight and takes another gulp of his drink, wishing he had some shots instead. He turns on his heels and heads in the opposite direction of the house, finding Emily and some girls he recognises from his literature class chattering away in one of the back rooms. Harry joins them for a while, but he adds little more to the conversation then the occasional comment or hum, nursing his drink and then another that’s handed to him. 

Eventually, the heat inside becomes stifling, so Harry excuses himself and makes his way towards the back of the house. He steps out the glass door and onto the back deck, the cool air welcoming as it prickles at his skin. He takes a few deep breathes, relishing in the way it creates puffs of white in front of him. He leans against the railing and turns his head up, just able to make out the light of the moon behind the swirling clouds. The music is just a low hum out here and the cold seems to be keeping most of the guests away. So Harry takes a moment, lets the world just fall away. He focuses on each breath in and out he takes, the way the cool air tickles inside his chest. He focuses on the way the wood feels underneath his fingertips, on the breeze ruffling his hair. 

“Hey, H. Didn’t expect to find you out here.” 

Harry glances to his right and finds Liam, cigarette dangling from his lips and lighter poised in front of his face. Harry shifts so that his back is leaning against the railing and offers Liam a shrug as the other boy lights up. 

“It’s a bit wild in there is all.” 

"I suppose, but—" 

“Hello, lads!” 

Both boys turn back towards the glass door to see Niall stumble through it, drinking sloshing out over the side of his cup and onto his hand. 

"Lovely night, isn’t it? Wait. Harry, what are you doing out here?”

“What is with you two? A guy can’t get some fresh air?” 

"Well yeah, but I saw Louis on my way out here. He is proper smashed. He was trying to dance on top of the table; although, it looked a lot more like trying not to fall off the table.” 

“I think he’s trying to drink away the loss, and you know he never knows when to stop, H. That’s what you’re for,” Liam adds. 

“Yeah, well, that was before,” Harry mutters, turning back around to slump over the railing. 

"Come on, Harry," Liam sighs. “You know you’re the only one who can take care of him. You’re the only one he’ll listen to.” 

“He has Zayn to take care of him now. He doesn’t need me.” 

Finally admitting that out loud leaves Harry feeling hollow, and suddenly he’s not much in the mood for drinking and partying anymore. Maybe he’ll just leave early and go home. He can crawl into bed and sleep for the whole weekend, his heart can start properly working again and his body can stop feeling like lead dropped at the bottom of the ocean. 

“You two are fucking idiots, ya know that!” Niall interrupts. 

“Niall,” Liam chides. 

“I don’t know why I associate with you two! Got your heads in your god damn assholes!” 

The comment startles a laugh out of Harry, who slaps a hand over his mouth to try and stifle the cackle. It doesn’t help when Niall stumbles a step closer, jabbing a drunken finger into Harry’s chest. 

“Now go inside and go get your boy, you fucker!” 

Niall turns on his heel and ambles back towards the house, leaving Harry to stare stunned at his retreating back. 

“I need another drink to deal with your shit!” 

And just like that, Niall disappears into the folds of bodies inside the house. 

"And now I have to go take care of him,” Liam says, shaking his head with a fond eye roll. 

Liam gives Harry’s shoulder a gentle squeeze before he re-joins the throngs as well, leaving Harry once again in the quiet cold outside. He turns his head back towards the sky, watching as the clouds shift and move. The cold wriggles through his pores, settling against his bones, but Harry doesn’t notice, his mind stuck on Louis, on what Liam said. The voice clawing at the back of his mind doesn’t help either. Harry sighs and scrubs a hand over his face. He pushes off the railing and heads back inside. 

The crowd inside has gotten rowdier and drunker with the passing time, and Harry tries to carefully manoeuvre through it. Still, three times someone stumbles and bumps into him, and on the third time, their drink sloshes and spills on his shirt. Harry suppresses a groan and continues to push through. He starts in the lounge, where Niall last saw Louis, but the only people standing on tables are two girls screeching the lyrics of the current song playing. 

Unease starts to settle low in Harry’s gut as his eyes scan across the waves of dancing bodies. He spots Eli dancing with a girl he vaguely remembers having Biology with, but there’s no sight of Louis. With another sigh, Harry decides to try another part of the house. On his way to the other side, though, Harry passes by the door to the toilet, and he pauses mid-step, his brain clicking into place. He swings open the door, the name Louis just on the tip of his tongue, and freezes. Zayn is stood in the middle of the room, tongue pressed down the throat of a red head he has pinned against the sink, her fingers scratching up through his hair. Harry’s not sure he’s breathing and there’s suddenly some sort of ringing in his ears. It’s like his body has been shocked by a bucket of ice water. He must make some sort of sound because both parties break apart, their eyes snapping in Harry’s direction. 

“You got a problem, mate?” Zayn quips. “Get out.” 

“W-what?” Harry babbles lamely, blinking a few times and waiting for his brain to catch up. 

“I said: get out!” 

“But… But you and…”

Zayn raises his eyebrows, the girl he’s with rolling her eyes. It’s that moment that Harry’s brain decides to spark back into life, sending a jolt through his body and willing his tongue to start working again. 

“Where’s Louis?” 

“How should I know? He’s not five. He can take care of himself.” 

“But you two are—well I thought you two were you know, together?” 

“Is that a joke?” Zayn asks, glancing pointedly at the girl who’s started kissing along his neck. 

“Yeah, but you and Lou are obviously really close...” 

“It’s called being comfortable with your sexuality. Now, if you don’t mind? Get out.” 

Harry nods numbly, turning on his heel and letting the door slam shut behind him. He stands outside the toilet for a few minutes, trying to wrap his head around the image of Zayn and a girl. Of Zayn being straight. Of Zayn and Louis not being together. Harry can’t help the sudden laugh that bursts out of him. He gets a few weird looks from passing party goers, but he can’t stop. He keeps laughing until he has to bend over, clutching his stomach to catch his breath. After a few more moments, Harry straightens up, takes a deep breath, and continues his search for Louis. A new form of determination pulsing through his veins. 

He finds Louis in the kitchen, trying to pour vodka into a shot glass; although, most of the liquid ends up in a puddle on the countertop. 

“Louis…” Harry sighs, stepping forward and prying the bottle from Louis’ hands. 

“Hazza!” Louis exclaims, drunken slur lacing his voice. “It’s shot time! You have to do one with me!” 

Louis turns and reaches up, patting Harry on the cheek. It’s sloppy and feels more like a slap than a pat, Louis’ pinkie almost poking Harry in the eye. Harry reaches up and grabs Louis’ wrist with both hands, pulling his hand down to cradle against Harry’s chest. 

“No more shots. I think it’s time to call it a night.” 

“No! No cutting off. I’m fine.” 

Louis goes to turn back to his shots, but his feet tangle up with one another, causing him to lose his balance. Harry swoops in, wrapping both arms around Louis and preventing him from braining himself on the countertop. He helps Louis back onto his feet and holds him steady. 

“You’re a right mess, Lou.” 

Louis rolls his head back and blinks slowly up at Harry, using a grip on Harry’s tee-shirt for balance.

“I may have had a bit too much to drink,” he says. 

“Just a bit,” Harry teases. “Come on. Let’s go find you a bed so you can sleep it off.” 

“Hmm, bed,” Louis hums happily, letting his head fall forward against Harry’s shoulder. 

Harry rolls his eyes fondly, keeping a steady grip on Louis' shoulders as he leads them out of the kitchen. Trying to manoeuvre the both of them through the packs of people proves difficult, but he somehow manages to get them to the stairs. Going up them is even worse, Louis practically dead weight against Harry’s side. He’s half tempted to lift Louis up and just carry him, but he’s worried the sudden movement could cause Louis to be sick. So instead, they go slow step by step, Harry keeping a firm grip of the railing and Louis. 

“You’re so lovely. Lovely Harry Styles. Why are you so lovely, Harry Styles?” Louis babbles the whole way up, his head lolling where it rests against Harry’s chest. 

Harry finally gets Louis up the stairs, but each door he tries is locked. Clearly, Mikey doesn’t want any couples taking advantage. Luckily the last door opens up to what must be a guest room. Harry helps Louis to the bed before turning back to shut the door and turn on a light. When he turns back around Louis has flopped back, laying sprawled across the bed while still fully dressed. His eyes blink slowly up at the ceiling and he scratches idly at the strip of skin exposed by his shirt riding up. Harry shakes his head at Louis’ inadequately and steps closer to the bed, helping Louis out of his shoes and then his jeans. 

“How’s my bum look?” Louis asks, flipping over onto his stomach.

Harry has to pause where he’s working Louis’ jeans down over his knees, almost choking on his own spit. He can feel the blood rush towards his face and he squeezes his eyes shut to avoid chancing a glance now that the attention’s been drawn. 

“What?” Harry asks. His voice sounds strangled and he prays that Louis is too drunk to notice. 

“How’s my bum look?” Louis repeats from where his face is squashed into a pillow. “Did it look good? Zayn said my bum looked good in these jeans.” 

“I um…” Harry clears his throat. “I hadn’t really looked.” 

“Oh. Then I guess they didn’t work.” 

Harry’s mind is still reeling from the original question that it doesn’t even want to start thinking about what that comment could mean. Instead Harry just folds Louis’ jeans and sets them on the chest at the foot of the bed before heading back towards the door. Maybe he needs some more to drink after all. 

“Hey! Where are you going?” 

“You’ll feel better once you sleep it off, Lou, so just go to sleep.” 

"But what if I get sick! Who will hold my hair back? You always hold my hair back.” 

Harry sighs and lets his hand fall away from the door handle. He turns back around and sits on the edge of the bed. He sort of hates Louis for how adorable he looks right now. He’s got his cheek squashed against the pillow, his hair a tangled mess of a halo around him, and his bottom lip jutted out in a pout. 

“Alright. I’ll stay.” 

Louis smiles as best he can with a squashed face and reaches up, pushing at Harry’s shoulders until he gets the message, kicking off his shoes and laying down as well. They lay face to face, Harry on his side and Louis still curled up on his stomach. This close Harry can see every fleck of gold hiding in those hazy blue eyes, every freckle perfectly painted on his nose, and he hates himself a little for how much he’s missed the sight. 

“Why don’t you want to hold back my hair?” 

“It’s not that I don’t—”

“Oh wait… I forgot. You’re mad at me.” 

Louis’ jutted out lip starts to wobble then, his eyes clouding over with a sheen, and Harry’s heart lurches painfully in his chest. 

“I’m not mad at you,” Harry rushes to say. “I could never be mad at you. Promise. I was just being silly.” 

“But you are,” Louis whines, his nose scrunching up as he sniffles. “You wouldn’t talk to me. And you won’t be my project partner. And now you probably won’t want to go to prom with me!” 

“No, Lou, I—wait what? You want to go to prom with me?” 

Louis’ entire face morphs at the question, like an over exaggerated movie actor. His eyes widen and his mouth drops open despite the press of his cheek. His eyebrows pinch together and he smacks a hand against his forehead which leaves his nose going wonky when he misses. 

“I wasn’t supposed to tell you that! Whoopies.” 

Louis giggles, but it results in his hiccupping. His whole body lurches with it and then his eyes widen even more.

“Hiccups! Hazza, I have the hiccups!” 

Louis continues to giggle, causing him to hiccup even more. He rolls over and presses his face fully into the pillow at this turn of events. 

“Wait. Louis. Focus,” Harry says, grabbing hold of one Louis’ hands to draw his attention back. “Prom.” 

“You know Zayn says you have to start thinking about prom early. Lottie’s even started looking at dresses ‘cause she’s going with that Tommy boy from our year. And I just think it’s silly ‘cause it’s months away,” Louis says, removing his hand from Harry’s grasp and playing with the strands of hair falling over his shoulders instead. 

“Your hair is so pretty and curly. I like it grown out like this. It’s all springy,” Louis says, emphasising his statement with a tug to a strand of hair. 

“Louis…” Harry pleads. 

“I think instead of getting one of those flowers you pin to your jacket, you should just put flowers in your hair.” 

“You gonna buy me a flower crown for prom, Lou?” 

“Yeah… we’ll have one of those romantic moments under all those twinkle lights. Like in that movie! Um… A Cinderella Story! Remember when you made me watch it with you?” 

“Don’t act like you didn’t like it.” 

“Okay. Maybe a little. But only because Chad Michael Murray is so hot.”

“Of course.” 

“He’s not as hot as you, though. Especially with those dimples of yours.” 

Harry can't help but smile as Louis presses a finger into his dimple, his cheeks heating up at the remark. His heart feels like it’s doing cartwheels in his chest, and it’s starting to make Harry feel a bit lightheaded. He tampers down on it, though, focusing instead on the boy in front of him. Suddenly, though, Louis’ eyebrows are pinching together and his finger is moving to press against Harry’s lips. 

“But shhh. Don’t tell you I said that.” 

“Your secret’s safe with me, Lou.” 

Louis nods and then a silence falls over them. Louis’ finger shifts away from Harry’s lips, running along his cheeks and up around his eyes. Harry bites the inside of his cheek, allowing himself to revel in the feel of Louis’ fingers caressing across his face. Louis’ face is soft, eyes beginning to lull and droop. 

“Listen, Lou, I have to tell you something. I—”

Before Harry can finish his thought, Louis’ eyes snap open wide. He throws himself out of bed, kicking the tangled sheets around his legs away, before darting off towards the ensuite toilet. Harry is quick to follow behind him. When he gets to the ensuite, Louis is curled over the toilet, body lurching with each heave. Harry drops to his knees beside him, pushing Louis’ fringe out of his face with gentle fingers and rubbing Louis’ back in the way he knows the smaller boy likes. 

Once the heaves stop, Harry helps Louis to his feet. He offers him a tissue to wipe under his eyes and blow his nose then hands over a travel bottle of mouthwash he found in one of the drawers. After Louis is all cleaned up, Harry guides him back to bed. He tucks him in before turning off the light and crawling in himself. 

Somewhere in the middle of the night, Harry feels the whisper of lips against his temple, a soft voice singing about ‘not like this’, but the heavy tantalizing pull of the dream world lulls him back before he can think too much about it. 

The next morning, Harry wakes up alone in bed. He tries not to think about what it means, his heart still recovering from the roller coaster of emotions from yesterday. 

_I'm only honest when it rains  
If I time it right, then the thunder breaks when I open my mouth  
I want to tell you, but I don't know how_

Harry drags himself home and jumps in the shower, scrubbing his hair and skin clean of the stale smell of beer and vodka. He puts on some joggers and a soft jumper before padding back downstairs to root around in the kitchen. He sets the kettle then peers inside the fridge. His mind is still reeling from the events of last night, the discovery of Zayn and Louis’ drunken confession clawing for attention at the forefront of his mind. Not to mention waking up without Louis. 

Harry doesn't even realise how long he’s been standing in the kitchen staring blankly into the fridge until the kettle clicking off startles him back to reality. He shakes his head of all niggling thoughts and grabs the carton of eggs. He prepares his tea, letting it steep while he readies a plate of fried eggs and toast. 

Once done eating, Harry moves to the sofa, flipping aimlessly before settling on Friends reruns. He binges for a few episodes before making a second cup of tea. He uses up the rest of the milk for it, though, and Harry sighs at the realisation that he’ll have to get more before Gemma gets home or she’ll be mad. So Harry grabs his wallet, ready to walk to the corner shop. He only makes it to the end of his drive, though, before something catches his eyes and forces him to halt mid-step. 

“Louis?” 

Louis is perched high up in the big oak tree in Harry’s front yard. His legs swing casually back and forth, his back pressed against the trunk of the tree. He glances down at his name, and Harry feels like it’s the first day all over again, seeing those shock of blue eyes. 

“What are you doing up there?” 

"I thought we went over this ten years ago, Curly? Climbing a tree obviously.” 

The comment pulls a smile across Harry’s face, and he makes his way over to the base of the tree, jumping up easily to grip onto the lowest hanging branch. 

“Is the password still football?” Harry asks as he climbs up to Louis’ spot. 

“Of course that’s not the password!” Louis scoffs. “That was a silly password.” 

"So what is it, then?” Harry ask, swinging his leg over Louis’ branch and pulling himself up. 

“I could tell you if you want.” 

“Do I have to promise to be your bestest friend again?” 

“No…” 

“Alright… what is it then?” 

“Kiss me.” 

Harry feels like his whole body stops. His heart freezes mid lurch in his chest. His breathing stutters to a halt in his lungs. He thinks even his blood has stopped moving. Or at the very least, it’s all changed directions to rush in his ears and coat his cheeks. Somewhere in the back of his ringing mind he realises that his jaw has dropped open and he’s pretty sure his eyes are bugging out. He’s proven right when Louis chuckles, shaking his head as he ducks it down. 

“Come on, Harry. I was completely smashed off my face, and even I remember last night.” 

“We could forget it ever happened if you want,” Harry offers, giving Louis an out despite the way his heart protests the statement falling from his lips. 

“Is that what you want?” Louis ask, voice small as he picks at a piece of loose bark on the branch. 

Harry curls his toes inside his shoes, swallowing hard and taking a deep breath to get up the courage to speak his mind. 

“No.” 

“Well then I guess the new password’s settled then.” 

"I guess so…” 

“Well?” 

“Well what?” 

“Well you’re in my tree and yet you’ve yet to demonstrate the password, so you better get on with it, or I’m going to have to kick you out.” 

“It’s not your tree, Lou. It’s still in my yard.” 

“And I still don’t see your name on it.” 

“One of these days, I’m going to carve my name into this tree, and then you’ll have no room to talk.” 

"Oh you do talk some shit, don’t you?” 

Before Harry can even think of a response, Louis’ grabbing Harry by the cheeks and pressing their lips together. Harry’s whole brain goes into shock before shutting down into a tunnel vision that only sees Louis Louis Louis. Louis’ lips are soft and tender, and Harry thinks this must be what actual sunlight tastes like: sweet and a little bit minty. Harry moves one hand to settle on Louis’ knee, the other sliding up to settle in the fine soft hair at the back of Louis’ neck. Their bodies press even closer together with each suck and press of lips. Harry’s whole body feels like floating away and staying anchored to this spot by Louis at the same time. Every press of lips is matched by a stuttering beat of his heart, and the warmth radiating from Louis sinks so deep in his bones, Harry thinks he’ll never be cold again. 

When they pull away, Harry is mesmerized by the sight before him. The sparkle in Louis’ bright clear eyes. The tinged red of his fresh kissed lips that compliments the pink dusting his cheeks perfectly. Suddenly, Harry really wishes he had his camera with him. 

“So I’m not only hotter than Chad Michael Murray, I’m a better kisser too, right?” Harry asks, cheeky grin painting his face. 

“Oh shut up!” Louis admonishes fondly, shoving at Harry’s shoulder. 

The shove is a bit harder than Harry expected, and his balance shifts off kilter. He flails his arms as he feels his body start to slide off the branch. Louis’ hand is strong and firm, though, where it grips into his jumper, hauling him back. Harry grips both hands into the branch under him before glaring up at Louis. 

“Louis! I could’ve fallen to my death!”

“Don’t worry. I would’ve caught you, and all that other cheesy stuff.” 

Harry wants to be mad, but then Louis is leaning in and kissing him again, and really all is forgiven. 

Later, the two curl up on the sofa like the old days, legs tangled under Harry’s duvet and teas cradled in their hands. Harry’s face burns as he explains to Louis about what he thought was going on with Zayn, but then Louis kisses him over and over until he doesn’t even remember Zayn’s name. 

And in the spring, they go to prom together. They get complimenting suits, and Louis buys Harry a flower crown instead of a corsage, arranging it perfectly in his curls. They take photo after photo under the big oak tree, so many that Harry thinks he’s going to need a new photo album for all the photos he takes of his beautiful boyfriend. And then they kiss under the tree until all the boys and their dates and Lottie and her date are rolling their eyes with smiles. 

And if before their group leaves, Harry grabs a knife and carves ‘H + L’ into the bark of the trunk because really it’s _their_ tree, then no one has to know. 

_I'm only honest when it rains  
An open book with a torn out page, and my ink's run out  
I want to love you, but I don't know how_

**fin**

 

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on tumbler [here](http://c-e-d-dreamer.tumblr.com/)


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